


Imperfect and Human Are We

by jujus_writing_corner



Series: Whumptober 2019 [30]
Category: Real Person Fiction, Youtube RPF
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Self-Worth Issues, Whumptober 2019, long conversations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-13 06:05:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21239375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jujus_writing_corner/pseuds/jujus_writing_corner
Summary: MarkBop struggles with the temporary loss of his voice after the events of "Choke," and in a manner of speaking, so does Cameraman Jim after the events of "Silenced." Maybe Bop is just the person to help CJ start healing.Whumptober Day 30: Recovery





	Imperfect and Human Are We

**Author's Note:**

> In which two of the sweetest boys in Ego Inc. maybe start to get better ;w; This was originally just gonna be about Bop but I had to include CJ after the other day's story.
> 
> And yeah, I know hardly anyone's gonna read this on account of AHWM, but dangit, I wrote this and I'm proud of it and I'm completing Whumptober if it's the last thing I do >:O
> 
> Enjoy!

MarkBop hates this.

One week ago, Bing brought him into Dr. Iplier’s clinic after he’d been strangled by a mugger. Apparently there’s nothing surgically that Dr. Iplier can do, and Bop just has to wait for his throat to heal on its own.

And that means no talking.

Not that he can, anyway. He’d lost his voice moments after he woke up from nearly suffocating to death and hasn’t yet gotten it back. Even if it comes back tomorrow, Dr. Iplier won’t let him talk until his throat is good and healed again.

It’s not that Bop is so upset about not talking. He knows a little bit of sign language, and Oliver gave him a notepad he snagged from the control room so Bop can write out more complicated sentences. He can still communicate with Bing and Oliver, still let Dr. Iplier know how he’s feeling.

But he _hates_ not being able to sing.

Singing is what he was made to do. He was created to be a singer, and so he is. He listens to music nearly every waking moment, devouring albums like they’re candy and then listening to them again, over and over, until he knows every note. He only ever pauses the endless music to hum to himself, to tap the counter he’s sitting at, to draw out the earworm in his head by singing it. He’ll stay up all night, singing and recording until his throat hurts, and in the early hours of the morning he’ll crawl into bed with Bing and whisper love songs to his sleeping form until he falls asleep himself. If he can’t sing, then what else is there?

What else is there?

_“What if I forget?” _Bop writes on his notepad for Bing one day, too anxious to think through signing it. _“What if I spend so long not singing I just…forget how?”_

“You won’t forget, babe,” Bing reassures him, kissing him gently, “There’s no way you could forget how to sing. When your voice comes back it’ll be just like it was before.”

Bop wants to believe him, he knows Bing is right. Dr. Iplier has explained as much to Bop a few times already, reminding him that he’s a figment, and he can heal from anything. Reminding him that he was made to sing, and he could never lose that about himself. But Bop is afraid that every day he goes without singing is a day he loses muscle memory, breath control, _skill._ He might still be able to sing, but he’ll be out of practice and worse for it, won’t he? He fears gearing up to sing for the first time when his throat heals only for his voice to screech, to wobble when he wills it to be steady, to crack on high notes or fail on low notes.

But, even with all that anxiety in his head…he knows it could be worse.

Lightning apparently strikes twice at Ego Inc. because just a few days ago, Cameraman Jim was brought into the clinic with bruises, a black eye, and a crushed hand. Bop wasn’t there when he was admitted, but to hear Bim tell it, it was horrific. Poor CJ endured surgery on his hand to set the bones and remove the fragments that were too small to realign. His hand is bandaged, casted, immobile, leaving him with only one hand to sign with. Bop’s seen him after his surgery a couple times now during his daily check-ins with Dr. Iplier. Both times, Reporter Jim was there too, sitting on CJ’s bed with him and pressing his forehead to CJ’s, not speaking, just staying close.

Bop knows CJ’s left the clinic by now, probably healing the same way Bop is: One day at a time, hoping, wondering, fearing.

It’s confirmed when RJ approaches him one day, out of the blue.

“Music Jim?” he asks, “Can I, um, ask you for something?”

_“Sure,” _Bop signs, _“What’s wrong?”_ RJ seems nervous, uncertain, to the point where Bop could’ve mistaken him for CJ had he not, well, spoke. The twins are practically impossible to tell apart without their differing personalities.

“It’s about CJ,” RJ says, “I mean, I know he got hurt and he has to get better, but…” He sighs, fidgeting. “But what happened really messed him up. More than his hand and his eye. He just…he won’t communicate at _all._ Not with me or Bim Jim or Doctor Jim or any Jim!” He hugs himself. “He could still sign okay with only one hand, and he could shake his head or nod or point to things, and I’ve tried to make him feel safe enough to speak but just…nothing works. He won’t do anything. I know he’s upset but I don’t – well, I mean, I kinda do know _why_ he’s so upset.”

_“Why?”_ Bop asks. He’s sort of forgotten that RJ prefaced this by asking for Bop’s help. He’s worried now, and curious, because he didn’t hear much about what happened to CJ, but what he did hear wasn’t good.

“Because the guys who hurt him…they…” RJ’s voice gets quiet. “When I scared them off, one of them called CJ the r-word, and I think…I think they said a lot of bad stuff to him while they were beating him up.” RJ sniffles. “And I think that’s why they broke his hand, because he was probably signing to them, and they must not’ve…not’ve liked it.”

Bop doesn’t know enough sign to convey how horrified he is by that knowledge. It must show on his face, because RJ nods in acknowledgement.

“It’s not the first time people have been rude to him,” RJ continues, “But no one’s ever been so _cruel,_ and it’s never…” He whimpers. “It’s never happened when I wasn’t there.”

Bop fumbles with his notepad to write _It wasn’t your fault_ as fast as he can manage. RJ sighs when he reads it.

“I know that, I guess,” he mumbles. “Bim Jim keeps telling me that. And he’s right, and you’re right, I just…I’d feel better if I could get CJ to communicate with me.” He brightens a little as he looks at Bop. “That’s why I came to you.”

_What can I do?? _Bop writes, hoping his face conveys his confusion accurately. It must, because RJ actually smiles a little.

“Well, what happened to you was a little similar, right?” RJ asks. “I mean, it was some cruel human who hurt you, and you got hurt somewhere important to you. I was thinking you could relate to him, and maybe help him out of this.”

Bop considers. It stings a little to be reminded of the reason for the notepad he’s writing on, but he knows RJ doesn’t mean anything by it. And maybe RJ has a point. Maybe CJ feels like Bop does: Gutted, purposeless, drifting, begging for the future and fearing it in the same breath. From what apparently happened to him, it wouldn’t be surprising. And Bop likes the Jims; they’re weird and goofy but sweet, and they keep asking to report on Bop’s latest covers and song releases, even though Bop is far too nervous to go on camera. If he really can help CJ, he wants to at least try.

_“Okay,”_ Bop signs, and RJ immediately lights up.

“Thank you, thank you, Music Jim!!” he exclaims. He hugs Bop, a gangly long-limbed hug that’s tighter than Bop would’ve expected, before jumping back to bounce with excitement. “CJ’s in Bim Jim’s greenhouse!”

Bop nods and can’t help giving RJ a pat on the head before he goes.

Bop’s been to the greenhouse himself a few times, and he’s not surprised that CJ’s there. It’s a beautiful space, full of green and growth and light shimmering in from…somewhere. The greenhouse isn’t on the roof or even the top floor, yet natural light streams in through the ceiling anyway. Bop always shrugs it off as one of Ego Inc.’s weird-yet-convenient magical quirks. When he steps inside, the place is as bright as ever, the plants are glittering with water drops. The room is misty and humid, but it doesn’t take long to find CJ. He’s looking at a huge bundle of violet chrysanthemums. His hair is damp, there’s a plastic bag beaded with water over the cast on his hand. He’s probably been in here for a while.

Bop approaches him, making like he’s looking at the chrysanthemums, too. CJ’s eyes flick to him, but he says nothing and continues to stare at the flowers. He doesn’t smile. There’s bags under his eyes. Bop’s heart aches to see how bad he looks. He takes a deep breath and turns to CJ, catching his attention.

_“Hey, CJ,”_ he signs. _“How are you doing?”_

CJ looks at him but doesn’t respond. Not a nod, a head shake, a furtive glance, nothing. No wonder RJ was so upset, if this how CJ’s been acting. Bop takes out his notepad.

_I’m guessing you’re not doing great, _Bop writes, showing CJ the notepad after. CJ makes the slightest sound, a huff of breath out his nose, as if to say _yeah, obviously._ But it’s something, at least. Bop smiles, a little sheepish but happy for a response.

_Yeah, I know, but I heard about what happened to you. _Bop cringes as he writes, remembering what RJ told him, comparing it to the cast on CJ’s hand and the thin, yellowed ring still around his eye. _I’m sorry. That sounds horrible._

CJ frowns, lips pursing like he’s holding back a reaction. He seems like he wants to look away but doesn’t want to be rude.

The moment stretches long and uncomfortable. But Bop keeps looking at CJ, and CJ keeps looking at Bop. Maybe CJ is tired of staying silent and closed-off, or maybe Bop came at the right time, or maybe Bop somehow said the right things. But CJ lifts his good hand, hesitant.

_“You got hurt, too,” _he signs, _“How is it not being able to talk?”_

Fortunately, Bop can read sign better than he can use it, and CJ’s questions rings loud and clear.

_It really sucks, _Bop admits. _I’m still afraid I won’t be able to sing right when my voice comes back, even though everyone tells me not to be._

CJ nods, considering, before raising his hand again. He lowers it, biting his lip. He finally raises his hand and replies, still apprehensive, but once he starts he can’t seem to stop.

_“Why can’t I just talk like normal people?” _he asks, fingers shaking, _“You can’t talk because you’re hurt. I don’t have any excuse. My voice box works but I can’t use it. RJ keeps telling me that those guys who hurt me were wrong, that I’m not stupid or weird because I can’t talk. And I know if I asked him why I can’t be normal he’d say I’m fine how I am or that I’m normal for me or something, but I just…” _His hand pauses in the air for a moment. What Bop thought were misty droplets on his cheeks might actually be tears. _“I don’t want to hear that. I just hate that I’m not normal. I hate that I need my hands to talk and one of them is broken. I hate how I feel broken.”_

Bop feels his eyes tear up. He stares at his notepad, unsure of how to respond for a long moment.

_I feel pretty broken right now, too, _Bop finally begins, _Being silent sucks. It feels so hard to get a word in sometimes, it makes me feel like I’m disconnected from people. This house is so loud, everyone’s so loud, and I love it, but I love it less when I can’t be loud, too. It’s like it swallows me up._

CJ’s eyes are wide and glittering as he reads, like Bop is speaking to his deepest thoughts. Maybe he is, for all Bop knows. Bop smiles gently as he continues writing.

_But it’s not all bad, _he continues, _I feel like I’m better at listening lately. Not that I was bad before, but it comes easier now. It’s easier to focus because I’m not talking or singing to myself all the time. And I know, really know, who my friends are. The ones who look to me in the conversation and give me a chance to communicate. It’s hard to talk with people, but not with Bing and Oliver. They don’t talk over me or through me, they still keep me in the rhythm. I think there’s a lot of good in being quiet, as long as you have people you can still make yourself heard around. _

CJ whimpers, wipes his eyes with his good hand before replying.

_“I wish I could talk. All the time.”_

_Maybe you will one day, _Bop writes, _You’re still young compared to most of us. Maybe you’ll get enough confidence to talk all the time. But even if you don’t, you’ll still have all your other ways of talking and interacting with the world that people like me don’t, that we don’t even know about. I’m gonna go back to talking all the time and be a worse listener and bad at focusing again, but not you. _He grins. _You’ll still have all this cool stuff going on. It’s hard not being normal, but it’s fun, too. Plus, being normal is hard sometimes, too. Being a person can be hard. We’re all just people. We’re all weird here, and I don’t think that’s a bad thing._

CJ nods. He still looks sad, but he seems to be gathering himself.

_“Maybe part of it is that I can’t film right now,” _he admits, fingers slow._“With my hand like this, I can’t even hold a camera. I already tried shooting one-handed with my smaller cameras but I just can’t do it. I wouldn’t feel so bad if I could just…just…”_

_Do what you were made to do? _Bop writes. He shows it to CJ, sees him duck his head with the slightest embarrassed smile, before he continues. _I get that. It’s really hard. But I’m sure Doc’s told you that your hand will heal completely and eventually it’ll be like it never happened. That’s what he told me about my throat. _He sighs. _It’s hard to believe, but we have to trust him. He knows what he’s talking about. We just have to get through this. I think it’d be easier for you to get through this if you actually tried to communicate with people a little. _He lightly, playfully shoulder-checks CJ, who’s come to stand beside him to read what he’s writing. CJ smiles again, a little bit broader.

_“Yeah,” _CJ signs. He looks away from Bop, back to the chrysanthemums. _“I’m not really used to not being able to share an experience with RJ. He doesn’t know how I feel right now, he doesn’t know what I’m thinking, when he usually…just does. It sounds weird in words, but I like not having to worry about that. I like that he knows me so well. But he doesn’t know what I’m going through now, he wasn’t there when I got hurt, and he can’t…figure out all this stuff.”_

_So tell him!! _Bop writes, animated, and CJ actually giggles when he reads it. _He’s your brother, he loves you, he just wants to help you be okay. He’s the reason I came to talk to you in the first place. _Bop grins. _Maybe he knows what you’re feeling right now better than you think. _

CJ nods. He smiles at Bop, a full, sunny smile, and his eyes sparkle. He hugs Bop, not as tight as RJ did but just as haphazard. This time, Bop has enough time to hug back. For a long moment, all is quiet, quiet without the internal noise of communication, only the dripping of water throughout the greenhouse and the hum of the fans. The sun somehow shines through the ceiling onto the pair, dappling the floor around them, and the flowers are as bright as ever, those purple chrysanthemums standing proud.

“Thanks,” whispers CJ, so quiet that Bop almost doesn’t hear it.

Bop’s jaw drops and his heart swells. CJ’s never spoken to him before. Excitement courses through him but he’s determined not to ruin the moment. He only hugs CJ tighter in response. When they finally pull away, they smile at each other, each elated but a little awkward. They don’t sign or write anything more, and nothing more is needed. CJ only waves goodbye, still smiling, before practically bouncing out of the greenhouse, no doubt to find RJ. Bop waves after him and sighs to himself, happier than he’s been since he got hurt in the first place.

He lingers in the greenhouse for a while in front of those purple chrysanthemums, just enjoying the moment.

**Author's Note:**

> CJ is not magically healed of all self-worth issues, but Bop's at least gotten him out of his own head and ready to start trying to help himself ;w;
> 
> If you actually read this even with the AHWM craziness going on, you get a cookie. If you recognize what song the title comes from you get two cookies :D


End file.
